


fleece dreams

by TheRedPalaaladin (Thighz)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, boyfriend sweater, this is just a sticky sweet mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 05:26:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16655056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thighz/pseuds/TheRedPalaaladin
Summary: Now, Shiro is a patient man, but at this very moment he has a sexy, sleep-ruffled boyfriend back at his apartment and the line at the grocery store is testing the last of it.





	fleece dreams

**Author's Note:**

> A little something I cranked out for the Sheith 69 min challenge on Twitter.
> 
> Enjoy the domestic ooey gooeyness.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shiro wakes as he always does - with the sun.

The world comes gradually into focus and with it the warm, solid weight of Keith tucked up against his chest. He smiles and nuzzles his nose into messy dark hair, smelling the soft scent of shampoo from an evening shower.

Keith grunts and curls up tighter, mumbling something about it being too early.

Shiro presses a kiss against his skull and untangles himself from Keith’s octopus limbs. They’re both still naked from last nights quick romp between the sheets. Keith had been groggy and exhausted from a late night shift at the bar, but he was more than willing to lay there and let Shiro do all the work.

Keith makes a soft sound as Shiro rolls out of bed, his hands grasping and patting at the mattress. Shiro chuckles and pulls their black comforter over Keith’s wandering hands.

“I’m going on my run.”

“It’s  _ saturday _ you demon.” Keith’s voice is muffled by the pillow.

Shiro circles around the edge of their bed, heading to the dresser and retrieving a set of sweat pants and one of his compression shirts. Keith makes another aborted half-whine from behind him while he tugs the shirt over his head.

When he turns back, Keith has curled into the spot Shiro once occupied, seeking extra warmth no doubt. Shiro smiles to himself as he tugs on a pair of socks and ties off his running shoes.

“I’ll make pancakes when I get back.” He walks back over to his side of the bed and grabs his cellphone and the wireless headphones Lance got him for his ‘special’ birthday this year.

Keith grunts, “You better.”

He’s got the comforter tugged down just enough for Shiro to see his eyes and the irritated crease between his brows. His hair is a mess, but he looks well rested for the first time in weeks and all Shiro really wants to do is crawl back into bed, put his head between Keith’s legs and spend the rest of the morning there.

But - he wants pancakes. And Keith’s going to want pancakes. And they’re out of blueberries and milk  _ for _ the pancakes, so a run to the store is basically killing two birds with one stone.

He reaches out and tucks Keith’s crazy bed head out of his eyes, “Love you.”

The crease eases slightly and Keith’s eyes get this soft, dreamy look to them that spears Shiro through the heart.

This is so new between them.

Living together.  _ Being _ together.

They spent so much time side stepping and dating other people and never quite hitting the mark. It’s a miracle in itself that Shiro gets to see this every morning.

It’s only been a month though and Keith’s still not used to his crazy workout schedule or his rigid routines and Shiro spends most of his evenings wondering when the hell Keith is going to come home from work.

They argue about how to fold the towels and Keith  _ never _ washes the peanut butter off the knife after he’s made a sandwich -

But this right here.

Sleepy and naked and warm under the covers and a low, whispered confession resting in the space between them - this is what Shiro has craved since they met.

Keith’s eyes flutter closed and he leans into the touch, “Love you too.”

“I’ll be back.” Shiro pulls his hand away and goes about putting the headphones into his ears, “Try and get a little more sleep.”

“Mmmfggffsd.” Keith yanks the covers over his head, “Turn the heater on. It’s freezing.”

Shiro nods at his covered head and goes in search of his wallet and keys.

He finds his wallet in between the cushions of the couch. Their large, long-haired persian, Black, cracks a sleepy green eye open in irritation when he has to lift her off the afghan to search for it.

His alarm is vibrating to life on his phone by the time he finally gets to the front door.

He forgets all about the heater.

 

  
  


-

  
  


Now, Shiro is a patient man, but at this very moment he has a sexy, sleep-ruffled boyfriend back at his apartment and the line at the grocery store is testing the last of it.

There are no other cashiers, four fulls carts in front of him and no sign of relief in sight. He checks the time on his phone and winces at the visible proof that he’s two hours late for their Saturday pancake date.

The blueberry carton in his arms is starting to bead with sweat and his bicep is starting to burn from holding a gallon of milk loose-limbed. He can also picture the pinched, miffed expression on Keith’s face when he finally crawls out from his warm comforter cocoon and finds that Shiro still isn’t home.

It takes another thirty minutes before he’s finally at the register and he makes the transaction as quick as possible. The cashier looks as if she’d rather be anywhere else and Shiro’s heart goes out to her just long enough to hand her money and leave the store.

He keeps up a brisk pace all the way back to their little apartment in the hills.

He’s not worked up from his run anymore, so the air is chilly and crisp with the beginning of winter.

His fingers are chilled and his nose is tingling by the time he’s unlocking the apartment door and using his hip to pop it open.

Luckily, Keith isn’t in the kitchen when he arrives. He’s not on the couch either, meaning he hasn’t yet risen from bed.

Perfect.

Shiro sheds his shirt and toes off his shoes, tossing the socks and shirt into the hamper by the laundry room door.

He then makes quick work of grabbing all the items he’ll need to make the pancakes. The batter is mixed and the blueberries washed and dried and folded into the mixture just as the griddle turns hot enough to start cooking.

By the time he hears Keith’s shuffling footsteps and the flush of the toilet, Shiro has a beautiful stack of pancakes on two plates.

He grins proudly at down at them before reaching for the open gallon of milk to take a victory sip. 

“Mmm. Smells good.” Keith’s voice is sleep-warm and husky.

Shiro turns to face him and promptly forgets that he has a gallon of milk tipped back against his lips.

Keith’s hair is still a mess, sticking out in odd directions and wavy from taking a shower right before bed. He’s scratching the side of his neck and yawning as he steps through the doorway between kitchen and living room.

But that’s not why Shiro’s mouth parts and milks dribbles like a waterfall down his chin.

Keith is wearing a sweater. 

A very large, very  _ familiar _ sweater that looks four sizes too big on his frame and kisses the skin of his thighs just enough to cover his dick.

It’s Shiro’s favorite sweater. The thick, fleece red one that is frayed at the wrists and faded from the wash and Shiro’s been meaning to get rid of it and buy a new one.

“Uh -.” Keith’s hand drops away from his neck and the arm of the sweater engulfs his entire hand.

Shiro wheezes and coughs, slamming the milk jug onto the counter and slapping a fist against his chest.

“Hunnng.” Shiro sputters, milk cold and sticky as it slips down his abdomen and soaks into the waistband of his pants.

Keith makes it across the kitchen in three strides and his fist collides with Shiro’s back in an attempt to help.

“Are you okay?” Keith questions, worry lacing his tone, “What the hell?”

Shiro gurgles slightly and drops his forehead on Keith’s shoulder, “That’s my sweater.”

Keith tenses, “Oh - uh - sorry? It was cold when I got out of bed and it was the first one I grabbed - I can take it off -.” He takes a step backwards and Shiro whines softly, hands snapping out around Keith’s hips and yanking him forward.

A startled gasp hitches in Keith’s chest as Shiro drags his hands down the curve of Keith’s hips until he’s able to dip his fingers under the edge of the sweater, “Are you naked?”

Keith swallows audibly, “Yea.”

Shiro groans and twists to bury his face in the warmth of Keith’s neck, “You look so good in my clothes, baby.”

Keith’s hands curl into the skin of his arms, “Yea?” His voice is low and his body arches into Shiro’s. An automatic, sexy response that has Shiro’s libido standing at attention in a heartbeat.

He cups his hands around the back of Keith’s thighs and lifts him up in one smooth motion, depositing him on the counter. 

Keith’s arms drop over Shiro’s shoulders and he’s wearing a smirk when Shiro finally lifts his face away from his neck, eager for a kiss.

Keith melts into it with a hum.

Shiro purrs when they part, sliding his hands up high on Keith’s hips. The sweater moves with the motion, exposing the soft, pale skin of Keith’s thighs and the rosy line of his cock. Shiro’s mouth waters at the sight. He dives back in for another kiss with a strained groin.

“Pancakes are gonna get cold.” Keith murmurs against his mouth.

“They can wait.” Shiro nibbles at his bottom lip, tugging and sucking and enjoying the stuttered breathing he gets in response.

“You promised me pancakes, Shirogane.” Keith slaps a hand to Shiro’s sticky chest and pushes him away, “Feed me.”

Shiro’s insides twist pleasantly.

One of his hands leaves Keith’s hip to grab a plate of pancakes and drag it across the counter. He pops the lid of the strawberry syrup and pours it over the stack, just how Keith likes it.

Keith’s fingers play with the hair at the base of Shiro’s neck and his toes are rubbing against the back of his knees and Shiro is practically throbbing inside his sweatpants.

But Keith wants food.

Keith is hungry.

Keith is also naked under Shiro’s favorite sweater and his mouth is plump from recent kisses and Shiro is torn between fucking him right here on the kitchen counter or savoring the burn of arousal just a little while longer.

He chooses the later.

He cuts out a small bite with a fork and sops up as much of the syrup as he can until it won’t drip. He brings it to Keith’s mouth and presses the sticky, red mess against the seam.

Keith’s lips part around the bite and Shiro groans.

They alternate bites and trade sticky, red kisses back and forth until the entire plate of pancakes is gone.

The fleece of the sweater feels soft everywhere Keith is touching him and strong, thin fingers are tracing unknown patterns on the back of Shiro’s shoulder blades. His skin is tingling with arousal.

Keith licks the remainder of syrup off of his lips.

The fork clatters to the counter and Shiro grabs two handfuls of Keith’s ass and drags him flush against Shiro’s chest.

Keith’s mouth is a sweet furnace as his thighs tighten around Shiro’s hips.

“Really gets you going doesn’t it?” Keith nibbles along Shiro’s jaw, short circuiting his brain.

Shiro moans, head nodding frantically and hips grinding into Keith’s.

Keith laughs, husky and sharp, and locks his legs at the base of Shiro’s spine, “Take me to bed, big guy. Fuck me in your favorite sweater.”

Shiro lifts him off the counter with a grin and carries Keith to their bedroom to do just that.

They can finish the rest of the pancakes later.

  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

End

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out with me on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/blackpalaladin)


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